


More Than You Bargained For

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: FAHC, GTA Universe, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Sex, Some angst, at the end, this was totally self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10109081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: Where Michael falls in love with one guy and gets two.





	

Michael stares up at the ceiling – a very _white_ ceiling, unlike his beige one at home – and wonders how the fuck he got here.

And yes, yes that is Ryan, the Vagabond, lying asleep next to him, naked save for the blanket pulled up to his waist.

Michael is equally naked.

He's going to be honest here, he doesn't remember much of last night. He remembers Gavin plying him with shots and he remembers falling on his ass after Geoff shoved him off a bar stool, and – he doesn't remember much else.

He turns to look at Ryan, who's actually asleep for once, eyelids fluttering as he dreams. His fingers flex against his chest and if Michael thinks hard enough, he can remember leaving that hickey on Ryan's collarbone.

Ryan turns over and Michael's left looking at – oh, _oh shit_ – the scratches down his back, light red lines clearly raked there by nails – _Michael's_ nails. And now that Michael thinks about it, his ass is sore.

Michael panics silently and Ryan flips onto his back, blue eyes open and focused right on Michael.

“Morning,” he says, voice rough, and the sound of it brings back a slew of memories like snapshots – Ryan's hands curled around Michael's arms, Michael's legs hooked over strong forearms, Ryan's mouth, wet and red, Michael's fingers digging into Ryan's back – and Michael panics a little more.

“Morning,” he replies, forcing his voice to something calm. He hopes his eyes aren't too wide. He fiddles with the sheet at his hips and clears his throat. “So where can a guy get some aspirin around here?”

Ryan chuckles and rolls to get up, snagging underwear from the bedside drawers before disappearing into the bathroom. Michael, pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs sharply through it, wondering what the fuck to even _say_.

_Hey, so, this was a mistake._

_Hey Ryan, great sleeping with you and all, but I'm not looking for a repeat._

_Hey, so I don't really remember what happened, so if we just pretend it didn't, is that cool?_

_Last night was fun. See you at base later?_

He can't think of anything that doesn't make him sound like an asshole.

Ryan emerges from the bathroom with two pills and hands them to Michael, who swallows them dry with a thumbs-up as thanks. He winces at the bitter taste left in his throat as Ryan gets dressed, and Michael is left wondering where _his_ clothes are.

“Hey, uh, Ryan?” He asks, hesitant because hey, he's only known Ryan for two months and Ryan's been in the crew for less, and Michael's not exactly sure what the etiquette is for sleeping with your crime coworker/violent murderer/practically stranger.

“Yeah?” Ryan responds, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt.

“Where are my clothes?” Michael asks, closing his eyes to block out the look he _knows_ is going to be on Ryan's face, that familiar combination of _you idiot_ and _what the fuck?_ that he sees from Geoff probably too often to be normal.

Instead he gets fabric to the face and sputters through the sudden mouthful of cotton, pulling it up to reveal – sweats?

“Gavin spilt beer all over your clothes,” Ryan says as explanation. Michael furrows his brow and catches the briefs Ryan tosses at him.

“I can wash them for you,” Ryan continues. “Two hours and you'll get them back.”

Michael has no choice but to nod and thank him quietly as he slips out of the bed to get dressed.

The sweats are too big but he pulls the drawstring tight and manages to settle them on his hips in a way that feels natural. While tugging on the shirt Ryan dropped on the bed, he realises he's a lot more marked up than he originally thought. There's faded red bites over his ribs and yep, those are definitely fingerprints bruised into his hip. He touches them experimentally and his hand doesn't quite fit, but he'd bet dollars to doughnuts Ryan's does.

Ryan leaves and Michael quickly uses the bathroom to piss and examine the damage on his body a bit more – he can't find any other bruises, so that's good, he guesses.

With a shaky inhale for courage, he pads out to the kitchen, pleasantly surprised to find his phone, wallet, and gun on the dining table. Ryan gestures towards them as he opens the fridge.

“Figured you'd want those.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Michael says, brushing his fingers over his pistol and pushing it to the side. “So, uh, I'm guessing you drove me here?”

Ryan squints at him over his glass of water. “How much of last night do you remember?”

Michael nervously rubs the back of his neck and steadfastly avoids Ryan's gaze. “Not much,” he admits, shuffling in place. “We were at the bar and then I was here and we were - “ he gestures lamely between them, “ - you know.”

Ryan grunts noncommittally and sets his glass down, turning to a drawer to pull out a pan.

“You want sweet or savoury?” He asks, rinsing the pan with water. Michael swallows his surprise down and opens and closes his mouth a few times.

“Uh, you don't need to make me breakfast,” he says. Ryan shoots him a withering glare and opens a cupboard.

“Sweet or savoury?” He repeats, and Michael gives in.

“Sweet, then, I guess. If you're offering.”

Ryan nods and takes out a box of pancake mix, shaking it slightly as he looks at Michael for approval. Michael nods quickly and Ryan gets out a mixing bowl and pours a liberal amount of the powder in.

“I can help,” Michael says, stepping into the kitchen, but Ryan shakes his head and waves him off.

“No, I'm good. Help yourself to a drink.”

Michael does, filling a glass with tap water and downing half of it in one go. He sits awkwardly at the dining table, scrolling through missed texts and calls – there's a few drunk texts from Gavin and a slurred voicemail from Geoff – and just when he decides to check the news, Ryan appears with a modest plate of pancakes and a bowl of cereal. He unearths the plates under the pancake plate and sets one down in front of Michael and one for himself, depositing the forks shortly after.

They take turns spearing pancakes and Ryan munches quietly on cereal as Michael checks the news – nothing relating to them, so nothing _too_ bad happened last night. A machine beeps in the distance and Ryan goes to deal with it, returning with “Your clothes are in the dryer now” as he sits down again. Michael nods and takes another bite of pancake.

They're actually pretty good pancakes – fluffy and light and not overcooked or tough. He says that and Ryan smiles a little. Michael's ass twinges and he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“Did I shower last night? Afterwards?” He asks, and Ryan shakes his head.

“No, you passed the fuck out,” he says, and Michael blushes.

“Sorry,” he says, a little sheepishly. “I hope I wasn't, uh, disappointing.”

“Oh no, you definitely weren't,” Ryan's quick to say, smirking. “I thought you were a lot more sober than you were.”

Michael laughs awkwardly and pushes his pancake around on his plate before he decides to just bite the bullet and ask.

“So, mind filling me in on what we actually...did?”

“You want a round two?” Ryan asks, the cheeky fuck. Michael's face heats nonetheless.

“Well, I mean,” he dithers, deliberately avoiding Ryan's eyes now. “I wouldn't say _no_.”

And that is how he ends up getting blown by Ryan – the _Vagabond_ – in the shower, and as he looks down at that pretty mouth stretched around his dick he knows that this is something he'll remember with startling clarity.

“ _Fuck_ , Ryan,” he gasps, struggling not to thrust up into that fucking _perfect_ mouth. Ryan's hands keep him helpfully pinned to the wall – and Michael was right, his fingers fit exactly in the bruises – and he seems to smirk around Michael as he swallows again, sending Michael into convulsions.

He comes straight down Ryan's throat and Ryan swallows neatly, zero choking – like a fucking champ – and he kisses Michael afterwards, hot and hard and bitter from Michael's come. Michael gives exactly no shits and just pulls him in closer.

–-

Michael tries not to make it awkward at work – really, he does, but every time he sees Ryan lick his lips or lift a gun all he can remember, much clearer now without the hangover, is Ryan fucking him into the goddamn mattress and how he loved it so much he left scratches down Ryan's back.

It's kind of intoxicating, knowing he's done _that_ with _him_ , the _Vagabond_ , and Michael feels a little restless thrill nestle in the back of his brain, a small voice that says _do it again_.

So Michael does.

He gets halfway to hammered again and stops before he starts losing memory, wanting to burn this night into his mind for at least the next few _years_. And he's completely unsubtle about it, too, flirting openly with Ryan and casually-not-casually touching him every moment he can. Ryan traps Michael's foot between his own underneath the table and Michael takes it as a sign that Ryan knows what Michael wants.

And _oh_ , he gives him exactly what he wants.

One of Ryan's hands pins both of Michael's wrists to the bed above his head, making him arch up desperately in search of friction as Ryan fucks him six ways to Sunday. He does this little figure-eight thing with his hips that has Michael's eyes rolling back in his head and his toes curling in mid-air as Ryan groans above him, dipping his head to bite gently over Michael's collarbone, his teeth sinking in progressively deeper the closer he gets. It's deep and hard and Michael moans staccato as he comes untouched, brain going fuzzy in the best way as he clenches helplessly around Ryan. For his part, Ryan just keeps fucking Michael through it, shuddering a few moments later and Michael can _feel_ him filling the condom, a sudden injection of heat that makes Michael moan again.

Ryan presses heated kisses into his skin, afterwards, with a sort of urgency that makes Michael's heart stutter. But they're nice and they're relaxing and if it helps Ryan come down, Michael guesses there's no problem with that.

–-

It becomes something of a routine – or maybe more like a habit. But it seems Michael's waking up in Ryan's bed at least one night a week and soon the white white ceiling becomes familiar, the tired slant of Ryan's early morning gaze becomes familiar, the dining table becomes familiar. Even the pancake mix becomes familiar and Michael finds himself wondering when it all became so easy.

He learns from Geoff that Ryan has insomnia, and it's true that Michael's never seen the guy sleep except for after sex, so he has to wonder if that's some weird part of it. But he doesn't want to ask for fear of shutting Ryan down, as he's wont to do when Gavin pries too deeply or Geoff teases too personally.

So he sleeps with the guy and reaps all the benefits of that, whether seeing the guy rest for once is part of that or not.

–-

Ray comes back from his contract job and disrupts the rhythm.

It's not his fault – Michael just ends up hanging out with Ray and Gavin more now and he doesn't realise he's slowly drifting away from his weekly thing with Ryan until a whole two weeks go by without him getting laid.

And then immediately after that he realises he was only ever getting laid by Ryan.

The realisation freezes something in him, the knee-jerk reaction to _deny_ , _deny_ , _deny_ , but he can't lie to himself about shit like that. But he can ignore it.

Ray hands him a controller and Michael cackles as he loads up a fiendish Trials map, which, yeah, maybe he's not the best at, but he's better than Ray, and that's all that matters.

–-

Ray's the one who brought Ryan in, is the thing. They've got history, except Michael doesn't know what sort because he practically never sees them together alone, or together in anything less than the whole crew.

It drives him up the fucking wall and this incessant urge to _know_ ends up with him making a goddamn fool of himself after pretty amazing sex.

“Hey, what's the story between you and Ray?” He asks, turning his head on the pillow to face Ryan. “I mean, it's obvious you guys know each other, but I've never really seen you guys even _talk_.”

And sometimes Michael hates himself and his big, dumb mouth because Ryan shuts the _fuck_ down, mouth in a hard, straight line and the afterglow atmosphere around them almost visibly _soured_.

“We're friends,” Ryan says, a note of warning in his tone, of _don't you dare ask_.

But Michael's never really been very good with warnings.

“You don't seem like it,” he pushes, a sort of vindictive thrill winding around his ribs as he gathers the words. “I'm pretty sure friends would actually hang out at some point.”

“Get out,” Ryan says, voice low and dangerous and Michael's hackles rise at the fury in his pitch.

“No,” he says, tries, because then Ryan growls and pushes himself up and Michael _bolts_ , rolling out of the bed and grabbing clothes as he runs out of the room, suddenly deeply, instinctually terrified of whatever anger he sparked in Ryan, in the _Vagabond_ – Michael, you _idiot_ he's literally a _borderline psychotic murderer there is a reason Geoff hired him_.

So Michael runs, and he catches a cab back home, ignoring the guilty ache in his chest and definitely ignoring what stupid urge he has to go back and _apologise_.

–-

He does apologise, later, a whole week later, when he hasn't talked to Ryan at all and Ryan's only glared at him.

“We're friends,” Ray says with a shrug, when Michael asks the same question he asked Ryan.

“You never hang out with him,” Michael points out, waiting for his character to respawn.

“You don't know that.”

“Uh, yeah, I do,” Michael says, taking a drag of his beer. “I'm literally with either one of you or the other most of the time? I'd think I notice if you guys started having video game nights.”

“Who said those had to be in person?”

“Look, Ray,” Michael says sharply, suddenly exasperated, “when I asked Ryan the same questions he nearly punched me.”

“Guy's private,” Ray replies easily, _maddeningly_ easily.

“He was fucking furious Ray, he could have cold-clocked me right there!”

Ray glances at Michael out of the corner of his eye and Michael doesn't like the scrutiny in it.

“You're sleeping with him,” Ray says calmly. Michael gapes for a second and then bites back like the prickly little shit he is.

“Yeah, I am. So what?” He snaps, bristling at the casual nonchalance in Ray's tone, like he doesn't – _care_ or something. React. Ray laughs bitterly, humourlessly, and falls onto a spike.

“It explains a hell of a lot more,” he says, rather cryptically, and Michael wants to punch him.

“Explains _what_?” He growls, forgetting the game completely as he focuses on not decking Ray. He doesn't even know _why_ he's so angry, but he can tell he's taking it out on the wrong person. If anyone, he should talking to _Ryan_ except Ryan's never been much for words and Michael bursts with them. Fortunately, Ray can pick up on Michael's bullshit and he can totally call him out on it.

“Go ask fucking Ryan, dude.”

Michael jaw clenches and Ray restarts the level.

“Either calm the fuck down and help me with this or fuck off,” Ray says, sterner this time, and Michael releases his held breath through his nose.

“I'll help,” he says a few deep breaths later, refocusing on the screen and pushing his anger into the game, into the little fucking death wish his character apparently has, always catching himself on the fucking _pixel edge_ of spikes and just _dying_ over and over again.

–-

Michael takes it to Ryan.

Well, he doesn't really take it, but he at least talks to the guy before he goes home with him, while they're driving to Ryan's place, Michael painfully sober and painfully aware that in hindsight, trapping himself in a modded death machine with the Vagabond may not have been his brightest idea.

Fuck it. He'll wing it.

“I want to know what's up with you and Ray,” Michael says. Ryan's hands tighten on the steering wheel and he doesn't answer.

“There's something between you,” Michael continues, looking for any hint that he's hitting a pressure point. “You guys have history and you fucking exploded at me when I asked about it.”

“Exploded?” Ryan asks, deceptively calm.

“You looked like you were about to kill me,” Michael deadpans, showing the cool he's not feeling. “Really shows your irrational side.”

“Irrational? Oh, _I'm_ irrational?” Ryan asks snidely.

“You are literally known for it,” Michael replies, trying to channel Ray but it's not working and he needs to get back to home ground, to anger and fire and demands. “Why the fuck are you so cagey, man?”

“Careful, Michael,” Ryan warns.

“No, I want to fucking know. What the hell went down that makes you so fucking furious?”

“It doesn't involve you.”

“Doesn't involve me?! Like fuck it doesn't involve me, _Ryan_. If you've got bad blood with the crew it puts all of us in danger, don't you fucking _see_?”

“I keep business separate,” Ryan replies, cool as ever and Michael sees fucking _red_.

“You are such a fucking _asshole_ ,” he spits. “A no-good, crazy, selfish, stupid _asshole_.”

Ryan pulls over suddenly, breathing harder as his hands flex on the wheel.

“Get out,” he says, voice low.

“Selfish motherfucker,” Michael taunts, bold with the adrenaline, “who can't fucking pull his head out of his ass long enough to see how fucking _stupid_ he is.”

This time, Ryan does explode.

He fists a hand in Michael's shirt and pulls them face to face, eyes narrowed to angry slits.

“Is this what you want, Michael?” He snarls. Michael grins annoyingly wide. Ryan cocks his head ever so slightly and this time his voice is a growl. “Do you want answers or are you just looking for a fight?”

“Little of both,” Michael answers, and wrenches Ryan's hand away. “Little of something else.”

And Ryan must catch on, because he smirks slyly and brings Michael close again with a fresh grip.

“Baby just wants to be _fucked_ , doesn't he?” He says, all gravel and smoke and danger. Michael's jeans go tighter. “Wants me to fuck all that attitude right outta him.”

“I wouldn't be opposed,” Michael replies in a breath, but Ryan's already getting out, sliding into the backseat a moment later. Michael climbs over the centre and Ryan manhandles him onto his hands and knees, breath steaming up the glass in front of him.

“Fuck, they're gonna see us,” Michael says, looking out at the busy streets just metres away, headlights racing by them.

“Too bad.” Ryan roughly shoves Michael's jeans down and unceremoniously slides a spit-wet finger in him, too dry and too fast and exactly what Michael wants.

Ryan fucks him rough in the backseat, car rocking as he wrings an early orgasm out of Michael and then another, making him shout himself hoarse and nearly knock himself out against the glass with the force of Ryan's thrusts.

It's angry and fucking _amazing_ and Michael still wants answers but he'll settle for this for now, for the burn and drag of Ryan's cock in him and the uncomfortable feeling of come in his ass because there's no condom.

Michael loves it more than he should.

–-

Answers come in slow, jagged forms. Ray offhandedly mentions that he used to sleep with Ryan, Ryan reveals he knows a weird amount of Ray's candy preferences – more than Michael knows, at any rate – Ray knows exactly how Ryan likes his coffee, Ryan comments on how Ray's hair has changed.

All sorts of small, useless shreds of information, little tidbits Michael gathers from the pair and stores away for later.

He isn't quite so angry any more, isn't quite so reckless around Ryan any more. After seeing him ruthlessly murder ten guys in that last heist, Michael isn't so keen on riling him up these days.

But still, he doesn't learn the actual truth for a few months.

They pass much like normal months, except Michael's sleeping regularly with Ryan and Ray isn't as much of a hot button. There's heists and there's meetings and maintenance and restocking – all the usual shit a crew do. It's fine, it's nice, it's normal.

Until.

“He basically jilted me at the altar,” Ray says, and Michael freezes for a moment. Thinks. Knows for certain that the topic definitely hasn't changed and they are still, in fact, talking about Ryan, the Vagabond. The Vagabond Ryan. Murdery Ryan. Whose first name is really James, Michael found out a few weeks ago.

Still.

“Ryan?” He asks, and Ray shrugs.

“Well, not really at the altar, but yeah.”

Michael shuts his mouth to process this and can't.

“Are you – Do you – What the fuck are you trying to tell me?”

Ray simply glances at him and then looks back at the game. “You wanted to know what was between us.”

“Wait, wait, hold the fuck up, are you telling me you guys were together? Like, _together_ together?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Michael pauses again and lets his character die while he thinks. Jilted. Altar. Which means -

“You guys were going to get _married_?”

Ray, to his credit, doesn't even blush. “Yeah. 'Cept he left the day we were supposed to get the certificate signed.”

“What?” Michael asks, and then repeats “ _What_?” with more emphasis on how fucking confused he is.

“Yeah,” Ray says, helpfully.

–-

After that bombshell comes a confirmation, and it comes while Michael's lying in Ryan's bed, waiting for feeling to return to his toes.

“Ray told me what happened,” he says, cursing himself for bringing this up _in_ bed, because the first time he did that it worked so well.

But this time Ryan just sighs and rolls onto his back. “Did he?”

“Married,” is all Michael says, and Ryan closes his eyes.

“Yep,” Ryan replies, and that's where the conversation ends.

–-

Through a series of weird, mismatched events – minor injuries, major windfalls, shitty allies, new rivals – Michael discovers that Ryan is still in love with Ray.

It's an odd word to attach to the _Vagabond_ , to a murderer, but lately Michael's been seeing him more and more as _Ryan_ , not the psychotic personality he holds for business. And Ryan is softer around the edges than the Vagabond, and he lets emotion into his face every once in a while and that's how Michael finds out, one too many fond glances and wistful upticks of his mouth and Michael _knows_ , is more sure of it than anything he's ever been sure of in his life.

So he backs up.

He pulls himself out of the little bubble he's created with Ryan and the new, deeper bond he's made with Ray and he backs the fuck up out of, what he has discovered, is an unresolved relationship between them.

He pulls himself out of the equation.

–-

Michael is hurtled back into the equation a month later, when he's invited over by Ryan and subsequently finds out Ray and Ryan are, in fact, a thing now, _together_. Michael's happy for them. Really, he is.

He just, maybe, misses what he had. A little. A tiny bit. An infinitesimal amount.

That's a goddamn lie but he doesn't need to worry about it because Ryan pulls him in by his collar and kisses him slow, surprisingly soft, and behind Michael Ray asks if Michael wants to be part of this.

And he does. Oh, so badly he does.

But he hems and he haws – _no, really, it's fin_ _e_ _, I don't want to intrude_ and _honestly, guys, you don't have to_ – but they roll their eyes and pull him back in with reassurances of _we want to_ and _we're sure about this_ and Michael goes. He goes so fucking easily and it ends up being the best decision of his life.

–-

A year later, Michael's informally the best man when Ray and Ryan get married – fake IDs and real signatures – and he's there to help them consummate the marriage.

They get a ring for him, too, even though polygamy isn't legal and he doesn't have any official connection to them, but they've never obeyed the laws – why start now?


End file.
